


some nights

by sos_blimek25



Category: Toaru Kagaku no Railgun | A Certain Scientific Railgun
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Character Study, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, romantic only if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28407798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sos_blimek25/pseuds/sos_blimek25
Summary: A twin story to 'some days.’ A deeper look into the mind of Mikoto Misaka.Mikoto has many demons to fight, and she doesn't always win. On a particularly anxious night, she reaches out to the only person who can help.
Relationships: Misaka Mikoto/Shokuhou Misaki
Comments: 19
Kudos: 90





	1. The Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this sitting on my computer for about a month (oops), but here it is! Exploring more mental health in Toaru because it deserves to be explored.
> 
> This was originally written as 1/2 chapters, so hopefully, I'll finish the second part soon. Enjoy this Mikoto-centric angst, and follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sos_blimek25) if you like!

Like the ticking of a clock, raindrops plotted against her skin. Faint, rhythmic, unnoticed. Mikoto had willingly forsaken her luxury dorm room for the company of a tempest, trying to escape her darkest thoughts — but the dark curtain of night provided no shelter.

So she stood alone in the rain, her clothes sticking like rotting flesh to her skin. Teeth chattering, bones trembling, eyelashes batting away the raindrops to no avail. The wind pushed her in all directions, she was unsteady on her feet as she was in mind. The rushing of rain was thick, like an ever-crashing wave, but even that could not pierce through her veil of melancholic thoughts.

Academy City was an awful place, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Mikoto knew of the evil that lurked beneath, she knew it well, and these brushes with evil left her with enough trauma to last a lifetime.

These days, Mikoto reluctantly wore the crown of a Level 5. The expectations of others were doubled by the pressure of her own; she wanted to use her powers for good, to protect others, to be enough for the perfect world she so desired. But her mistakes haunted her and she doubted she would ever be able to forgive herself.

All the blood she’d spilt, all the times she’d failed to protect someone, all the times she was rescued because she wasn’t strong enough — Mikoto hated herself for these things. There had to be something wrong with her, some sort of defect, for a Level 5 to be so weak.

So incredibly weak.

Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed above. For each raindrop that dotted her skin, a streak of doubt in her mind. A pang of sickness and despair.

Her anxious thoughts knew no bounds and she was mercilessly assaulted. _You’re a disgrace. You’re unworthy. You can’t save anyone. Your friends always end up hurt._

Fingertips sank into her brown bangs like teeth, clawing at her mind from the outside. If she tugged hard enough, perhaps her skull would break apart, and she’d finally escape these imprisoning thoughts.

“I hate this…” she muttered, rain dripping at the edges of her lips. “I hate this!”

In one fierce outburst, Mikoto roared and a streak of lightning burst from her body towards the sky. After the sparks fizzled out, she finally let herself cry, her teardrops indistinguishable from the rain. Her chest lurched with every sob as if choking up seawater and, exhausted, she fell to her knees.

Mikoto spent too much time fighting these thoughts alone. A mixture of pride and insecurity prevented her from reaching out for help — even if she tried, few knew of the truth of Academy City. Kuroko, Ruiko, Kazari, none of them understood, and Mikoto wanted to keep it that way.

In times like this, when she was at her absolute worst, she almost wished for someone to comfort her, but there was no one.

Right?

Through the fog in her mind, an image started to form. A warping of colours and shapes that gradually turned into a face, a smile, a girl she recognised. This girl… Why was _she_ coming to mind?

 _She_ had peered deeper into Mikoto’s heart than any other — not by choice, but by chance. _She_ stood on an equal footing to Mikoto and they made a surprisingly good team, making up for what the other lacked. They had every reason to embrace each other but were equally stubborn and struggled with sincerity — so, they remained rivals, despite their deep love for each other.

Mikoto was so defeated she didn’t care for her pride. She needed someone, she needed _her —_ and if she was turned away, at least she wouldn’t feel any worse. Steeling herself with a deep breath, Mikoto put her phone to her ear.

Ring… ring… the sound so soothing until it was cut short.

Far from where Mikoto stood in the rain, a phone began to ring. It vibrated against the wooden table, its owner was suddenly alerted, and she glanced towards the lit screen. She stopped brushing her hair and leaned down to read the contact name.

Misaka Mikoto?

She frowned. Mikoto wouldn’t call unless absolutely necessary — and the thought of an urgent call on the cusp of midnight filled her with dread. But, she answered the phone without showing a single shred of concern.

“Misaka-san?” she said. “Calling at such a late hour, why, people are gonna start talking…”

It was Shokuhou Misaki, of course. How one voice could fill Mikoto with an equal amount of hatred and relief, she didn’t know, but it was a feat only she could accomplish.

Misaki’s playfulness was to be expected, but Mikoto couldn’t will herself to match it. A crackling voice came out. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already… hold on,” Misaki paused. “Misaka-san, why is the rain so loud? Where are you?”

“I’m outside.”

“In the storm?” Misaki saw flashes of lightning in the distance and knew Mikoto was not the cause. “What are you, insane? You’ll catch a… never mind. What do you need?”

The question brought Mikoto to a red light standstill. She asked herself the same — what _did_ she need? Was she truly about to confide in Shokuhou Misaki? That’s why she called, right?

Mikoto shifted. The line was right there. They couldn’t sit and wait for the other to cross it forever, for nothing meaningful would become of their stalemate. It was terrifying taking the first step but, with a hissing intake of breath, Mikoto steadied herself.

And prepared to cross.

Mikoto didn’t know how Misaki would react to her purposefully laying her heart bare, but right now, that didn’t matter.

She needed Misaki.

“I know how this sounds, and I’m sorry,” Mikoto said, “but can I talk to you?”

Misaki paused, only because it was expected of her — there was never a doubt in her mind to what her answer would be. “Get out of the rain, Misaka-san. I’ll leave the door open, wipe your shoes before coming in, please.”


	2. The Response

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I finally finished it...
> 
> Initially, I planned to show more of their conversation, and Misaki was really going to comfort Mikoto... but then I thought, MikoMisa is all about showing you care without having to say it, right?
> 
> Enjoy the second chapter.

“Oh my god, you’re soaking wet.”

When Mikoto turned up at her door, Misaki was not impressed. Mikoto was horribly drenched — her clothes stuck to her skin, her hair dripped onto the floor, and her legs were covered in scratches. Worst of all, she was as pale as a ghost; all colour had been drained from her face, and the lively Level 5 Misaki knew was nowhere to be seen. Mikoto was quiet, her head hung low, her presence barely there.

“Sorry,” Mikoto mumbled.

Misaki rolled her eyes. “This is the last time I’m being kind to you.”

Misaki paused, waiting for a snarky reply, but it never came. That alone was a clear sign that something was wrong. There wasn’t even a flicker of recognition in Mikoto’s eyes; she was deep in thought, and it was possible she hadn’t heard Misaki at all.

Misaki sighed. “Go take a shower, Misaka-san.”

“Are you sure?” Mikoto rubbed her arm. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here after all.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Misaki grabbed Mikoto’s wrist, finding her skin slick and cold to the touch. She dragged Mikoto inside and shoved her towards the bathroom. “Go on.”

Mikoto blinked, the sudden force shocking her back into reality, and glanced at Misaki. She was giving her a stern glare, a look that said she would not be taking complaints — so Mikoto bowed her head in compliance, and rushed off into the bathroom.

With the flick of a switch, orange light flooded into the bathroom. It reminded her of warm candlelight, and Mikoto took a deep breath. She much preferred this over the erratic flashes of lightning strikes or the all-consuming darkness of the storm.

It was a little strange to be in someone else’s bathroom, though the layout was the same as her own. Misaki’s belongings were scattered everywhere — hair products with labels Mikoto didn’t recognise, perfume bottles cut like gems, make-up brushes and cosmetics. Half of it looked unused but it was an impressive display. They served as a constant reminder of who owned the place, and _who_ was showing Mikoto such hospitality.

Mikoto’s clothes peeled off her skin and she stepped into the shower. She took her time, welcoming the hot droplets that caressed her face, watching the twirling steam envelop her shivering form. Her emotions were being flushed away from the outside in. Her mind began to feel a little clearer, like a dark veil being lifted.

The door suddenly swung open. Mikoto jumped, scrambling to covering her chest as best she could — but, when Misaki walked in, her eyes were glued to the floor. She silently dumped a pile of dry clothes beside the sink and left.

Mikoto paused. She muttered thanks, although it was too late for the other to hear it.

When Mikoto finally stepped out of the shower, she opted to leave her hair wet (for she wouldn’t risk touching Shokuhou Misaki’s hair drier). She slipped into the new clothes and almost laughed at herself in the mirror. They were likely Misaki’s old clothes — the vibrant blue of the shorts had faded to a light grey, and the shirt was crumpled and baggy on Mikoto’s small form.

She made it look (somewhat) decent by tying up the shirt just above her waist. It showed a little skin, especially when she stretched her arms, but she preferred that over dressing like a kid on their first day of school. Mikoto lingered in the mirror for a moment, frowning at the bags underneath her eyes, and then turned to the door.

Misaki was lying down, her back propped against a stack of pillows. She was admiring her manicure when she noticed Mikoto return. She promptly sat up, slipped her gloves back on, and looked her up and down with a grin.

“They don’t really fit, but…” Mikoto’s cheeks reddened. “Thanks, Shokuhou. Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“I don’t expect much from you, so you’re not exactly disappointing me,” Misaki said.

“That’s… good.” Mikoto stood awkwardly, fiddling with her hands before gathering the courage to sit next to Misaki. She didn’t know what she was expecting — a complaint, an insult perhaps, but Misaki didn’t seem to mind.

“So,” Misaki laced her fingers together. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“No going back now, is there?”

“Nope, I want to hear everything.”

Slowly but surely, everything came out; everything she had bottled up for so long began to overflow. Having overcome the worst of the night’s anxieties, Mikoto could thankfully talk without getting too emotional. She talked, not to receive comfort or advice, but to get the rotting leftovers out of her system.

It was difficult at first. She kept glancing at Misaki, expecting snarky remarks or judgment, but she remained quietly listening. While Misaki offered little words of consolation, she nodded along to give constant reassurance that she was, in fact, paying attention. And every now and then, she gave her observations.

“You know what I’ve noticed, Misaka-san?” she said. “You put an awful amount of pressure on yourself.”

“I guess…” Mikoto lowered her head. “I don’t know, I just — I don’t know if you feel the same, but it really gets to me sometimes. Being a Level 5, I mean. I feel like there’s so much I should be doing with this power, but at the same time, that I’ll never be strong enough.”

Misaki shrugged. “We’re human. I promise you, Misaka-san, you aren’t the horrible person you believe yourself to be.”

“I thought you were the person who hated me the most.”

“If you truly believed that,” Misaki said, “you wouldn’t be here.”

Mikoto couldn’t reply. She couldn’t deny, after all, that _something_ had drawn her to Shokuhou Misaki, and she was yet to regret that decision. Misaki’s presence was more comforting now than it ever had been. It was nice to enjoy each other’s company without the tension and hostility.

“Although I don’t mind,” Misaki spoke after some time. “How long are you going to stay here, Misaka-san? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Mikoto rubbed the back of her neck. “I'm wide awake. Besides, I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve been having the worst nightmares. It’s always the same dream over and over, it’s always about…” Mikoto paused. “Them.”

Misaki could read her like a book — she knew that pained look well. “The Sisters?”

“Yeah. You know everything, don’t you?” Mikoto said, smiling sadly. “Not a day passes that I don’t think about them, or about what I’ve done.”

“You gave them life. That’s hardly something to regret.”

“But so many were killed because of me. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”

“Don’t blame yourself for their wicked experiments.” Misaki waved a hand. “Besides, there’s nothing to be done about it now. The past may be tainted with blood, but the future doesn’t have to be. As long as you keep fighting for those girls now, fighting for a world they can belong, that’s what matters.”

“There’s nothing I want more than that. I just hope…” Mikoto stared into her lap. “I hope I don’t let them down.”

Misaki nudged Mikoto with her shoulder. “You won’t fail, Misaka-san. Not on my watch.”

Mikoto’s heart swelled. It was a simple gesture and yet because it came from someone unexpected, it was so powerful.

“Why are you so willing to help them?” Mikoto asked. She doubted the topic would ever resurface so she took a chance, attempting to settle her curiosity. As grateful as she was to have an ally in the matter, Mikoto didn’t understand why Misaki was so insistent.

But Misaki waved a finger in the air. “This isn’t about me right now, Misaka-san.”

Mikoto deflated. “Will you ever tell me?”

“Perhaps,” Misaki said, thinking for a moment. “If I find you a little more tolerable in the future.”

“You have a strange way of showing you care, Shokuhou.”

“‘Care’ is a strong word.”

Mikoto hadn’t noticed when, but at some point, she had begun to smile. Misaki’s attempts to appear callous were endearing — because they reminded Mikoto of how similar the two girls were. They were both stubborn, dishonest, but sentimental in their own ways. They loved each other deeply, though they would deny it at any cost.

In the end, they really weren’t so different.

“Thank you,” Mikoto said. “I really appreciate this. I haven’t… talked about any of this stuff before. It’s nice.” Her voice wavered and, much to her chagrin, her eyes started to water. Mikoto turned away, hoping Misaki wouldn’t see, but she was too slow.

“You’re such a crybaby.” Misaki shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Sorry.” Mikoto wiped her eyes profusely, refusing to let a single tear fall from her face. When she felt grounded once more, she spoke quietly. “Please… continue to look after me.”

“If I don’t,” Misaki said, “then who will?”

Mikoto noticed she felt considerably lighter than when she had first arrived. Her chest was swelling with gratitude and her face regained its colour. Exhaustion had caught up to her now, drooping her eyelids and slurring her words, but other than that, she was fine. She felt she could breathe again, freed from the heavy weight of her burdens, even if it was only temporary.

Mikoto kicked her feet a little. Her gaze lingered on Misaki and then she said, “I probably should get going.” Mikoto went for the door and Misaki closely followed.

“Next time, Misaka-san,” said Misaki, “stay out of the storm. I will happily lend an ear, but if you catch a cold, I will not nurse you back to health.”

“Oh?” Mikoto raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say this was the last time you were being nice to me?”

“Would you like it to be?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.” Misaki giggled. “Oh, and by the way, don’t bother returning those clothes. I don’t wear them anymore, and besides…” She looked her up and down. “They look kinda cute on you.”

“Oh.” Mikoto reddened. She would have assumed Misaki was making fun of her if she didn’t look so flustered herself.

“Goodnight, Misaka-san,” she said quickly, desperate to cut Mikoto off. She twirled the ends of her hair between her fingers. “If you have nightmares again tonight, well… Bother Shirai-san, or something.”

Mikoto nodded. “Goodnight, Shokuhou.”

And they both lingered in the doorway — Mikoto unwilling to walk away, and Misaki hesitant to shut the door. They both looked like they had more to say but remained in a quiet stalemate, neither finding the courage to act first. The silence dragged on, approaching the precipice of awkwardness.

Then, Misaki reached for Mikoto’s hand. She gave a tentative squeeze that Mikoto returned — and they were both satisfied with that. Perhaps they didn’t need words, after all.

Mikoto turned away, her chest warm knowing that Misaki would be there for her. She would never say it, but she knew it to be true. And if Misaki needed her, Mikoto would be there, too.

For the first time in weeks, Mikoto didn’t have any nightmares that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As always, please follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sos_blimek25) for updates and Railgun musings.


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